


The Air Is Humming

by voxangelus



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Come At Once, F/M, Probably Crack, egregious use of broadway musicals as a plot device
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 11:07:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1302640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voxangelus/pseuds/voxangelus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly is trying to have a quiet night in. Sherlock shows up, psychoanalyzes West Side Story, and proceeds to show that he knows quite a lot about unresolved sexual tension.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Air Is Humming

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 3rd Round of Come At Once over on LJ, to the prompt "switchblade". Unbeta-d, so please kindly point out any glaring errors so I can fix them!

Molly stood in her sitting room and surveyed her preparations for the evening. Stack of DVDs, check. Giant bowl of popcorn, check. Pot of tea, check. Pyjamas, check. Cosy blanket, check. Excellent. 

She took ‘West Side Story’ from the top of the stack of movies and popped it into the DVD player, then flopped onto the sofa and got comfortable. She was just getting wrapped up in the music when there was a knock at the door. Leaving the movie running, she went to answer it, peering through the peephole first.

Oh _god_ , what did he want? She might as well forget her relaxing evening now.

“Sherlock! What are you doing here?” she asked, as she opened the door just a crack.

He looked down at her, puzzled. “You… aren’t pleased to see me.”

“It’s not that I’m not… fine. You’re right; I’m not pleased to see you. I had hoped to have a very rare night in with nobody to bother me and nothing to work on or do. Now you’re here – obviously you want something – and there goes my nice evening. Aren’t you supposed to be in Estonia, or somewhere?”

“It was supposed to be Latvia, but with your former boyfriend being a very naughty boy and apparently hacking the BBC, the powers that be thought it prudent I come back,” he responded. “May I come in?”

Molly scowled, but opened the door the rest of the way. “Take your shoes off. Sit down. And for goodness’ sake, _be quiet_. If you don’t like what I’m watching, you can go right ahead and leave.”

The look on Sherlock’s face was what Molly would call contrite, if she thought Sherlock was capable of such a concept. She closed the door behind him and went back to the sofa, watching as the story unfolded on screen. Sherlock, she was surprised to note, did an excellent job of staying quiet. Well, until the major rumble scene.

“Surely they realize that leaping at each other with switchblades is more dangerous for themselves than their opponents? And is this supposed to be a fight, or a giant metaphor for unresolved sexual tension between the two gangs?”

Molly paused the DVD, staring at Sherlock for a moment. “It’s a movie, Sherlock. There’s this concept called ‘willing suspension of disbelief’ that you agree to engage in if you watch any movie, play, or TV show.”

He favoured her with a withering glance. “I’m well aware of that concept, but the entire song before this one was about how half the gang members’ girlfriends are going to sleep with them after the rumble! Don’t they realize they’re just substitutes for the males’ actual desires?”

“Are you trying to tell me that what the Jets really want to do is bend the Sharks over the nearest park bench and have their way with them?” she challenged. Her inner good judgment was telling her to shut up and back down _now_ , but Molly was _not_ listening. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard, even from you. What in the world would you know about unresolved sexual tension?” 

“Just because I choose to not broadcast my every sexual encounter does not mean I have no idea what any of it is about,” Sherlock retorted petulantly from his seat at the other end of the sofa.

“Exactly my point,” Molly said, leaning closer to him. “I doubt you’ve ever had to deal with unresolved tension – it can’t have escaped your notice that you could easily have anyone you liked, and you’re confident enough to pursue what you desire. I find it hard to believe you know what it’s like to lust after someone without any hope that you’ll ever be able to do anything about it, when just being near that person has an effect almost like a drug.”

“I can certainly relate to the drug comparison – you think one hit will help. One glance, one simple caress, perhaps even a slap to the face will be enough to rid your mind of the primal need to claim and possess the object of your desires,” Sherlock murmured. “Hence the fighting – violent contact is better than none at all.”

Molly shivered, but recovered quickly. She laughed softly, glancing over at Sherlock. “I much prefer kisses to switchblades.”

“Mmm. That’s because you’re marginally sane,” he reasoned, holding her glance.

He really needed to stop looking at her like that and talking about tension, and kisses, and desire, or Molly was sure she was going to do something incredibly stupid. “Only marginally?” she whispered, inching that much closer to him.

“I can’t say much for your choice in friends,” he answered.

“Sherlock?”

“Yes, Molly?

“I think you should shut up now.”

“Should I rea—“ and before Sherlock could finish his sentence, Molly leaned in, grasped his collar, and kissed him soundly on the lips.

“Yes. You should,” she murmured against his mouth, waiting while he sorted himself out. She was just about to back away and write what she’d done off as a very bad idea when he crushed his lips against hers, grasping her arms and pulling her against him. She swung her leg over his lap and straddled him, thanking God, Jim Moriarty, and Leonard Bernstein for the opportunity before the desire for conscious thought completely left her behind.

Sherlock’s large hands slid along her thighs, over her brief pyjama shorts and then under her top, warm against her bare skin as they kissed. She pushed his coat from his shoulders and began unbuttoning his shirt, nipping at his lower lip. There would be time enough for awkward regrets later – now, Molly was going to take what she wanted and let Sherlock do the same. She trailed open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, reveling in his sharp intake of breath and the way he clutched at her as she did so.

“Bed?” she murmured as she traced her tongue along the shell of his ear, slipping her hands into his half-open shirt.

He arched his hips up against her, mouthing at her neck and shoulder “Too far. Want you here, now.”

“God, yes,” she gasped, grinding down onto the bulge in his trousers. She disentangled herself from his shirt and pulled her top over her head, tossing it aside. Sherlock studied her intently, and she felt her cheeks heat under his intense gaze, only to have shivers skitter down her spine as he bent his head and took one of her nipples into his mouth, laving it with his tongue as he toyed with the other with his thumb and forefinger. Molly busied her own hands with his belt and the fastenings of his trousers, loosening them enough so she could slip her hand into his pants and caress the hot, hard length of him. She was almost ashamed of how eager she was; it’d been months since she’d had sex, not since she’d broken things off with Tom – but she refused to even entertain the idea of shame, not after she’d wanted this, wanted Sherlock for so bloody long.

Sherlock slid his other hand into her shorts and knickers, fingers deftly parting her slick folds. She whimpered, rocking her hips into his hand as he rubbed her clit in minute circles. “Please,” she begged, not sure what exactly she was asking for, and past the point of caring. In response, he pressed his thumb to her clit, easily sliding two fingers into her cunt. Molly slid her hand into his hair at the nape of his neck and tugged, guiding his mouth back to hers so she could kiss him again as she rode his fingers, edging closer to what she could tell was going to be an absolutely explosive orgasm. He took her to the edge and then eased off, chuckling as she whined at the loss of contact.

He tugged at the waistband of her shorts, and Molly stood for a moment, wobbly-legged, so she could help him get them off her body. She had Sherlock arch his hips so she could tug his trousers down as well before she straddled him again, teasingly rubbing herself along his cock as she kissed him.

“Please, Molly,” Sherlock murmured, grasping her hip with one hand and the base of his cock with the other, holding it steady so she could slide down onto him. She did so excruciatingly slowly, gazing into his eyes the entire time. It was a bit of a stretch after so long, and she held still for a moment, resting her forehead against his as she began to move, hips undulating. Sherlock thrust his hips up, meeting each of her movements with one of his own, slow and sensual.

Molly buried her face in the crook of his neck as they moved together, moaning softly. Whether it was the years of wanting and anticipation or just basic chemistry, Tom had never come close to making her feel like this, both powerful and vulnerable in the same moment. She trusted Sherlock implicitly to both launch her into the stratosphere and bring her back safely to earth, but she found she couldn’t form the words to tell him so. She merely murmured his name over and over until he sought her mouth and kissed her again, one hand tangled in her long hair, the other rubbing at her clit. She gasped into his mouth as she came, clenching around his cock. He groaned her name, only a few sharp, erratic thrusts behind her.

They clung to one another as they each caught their breath, and Molly giggled softly.

“What’s so funny?” asked Sherlock, nipping at her earlobe.

She smiled. “I suppose you do know about unresolved sexual tension after all. Care to find out how you do post-resolution?”


End file.
